


pain (is your reward for being near me)

by random_fandom_memorandum



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, and also physical hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28920909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/random_fandom_memorandum/pseuds/random_fandom_memorandum
Summary: Clover wakes up in the hospital to the sound of Qrow being dragged to trial for his murder.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen & Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	pain (is your reward for being near me)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still in my feels after episode eleven of volume seven, so have this fanfic that makes it worse. Because if you make the fic horrible, the canon seems better. That's how it works, right?

It's the noise that wakes Clover up. Outside the window, in the hallway, someone – Harriet? – is dragging Qrow. Or trying to. He's cussing her out and trying to kick at the spot behind her knees. He's taller, but she's faster and has him handcuffed. Harbinger is nowhere to be seen.

He gets a lucky hit in, slamming his cuffed wrists into her face. Her nose snaps with a barely audible crack. Clover winces. _That looks like it hurts._ Blood leaks from it. She wipes it off with one gloved hand.

"YOU BITCH," she screams. 

Qrow rolls his eyes. If he says something, Clover can't hear what it is.

Clover looks around at the rest of his room. One arm is held up in a sling, tubes feeding into it. His chest is bandaged. There's a telltale numbness where they put anesthetic for the stitches. Wires connect his chest to a monitor that beeps softly. Nobody else is in the room. _Odd._ _They must be really short on staff._

Harriet raises her right arm, her weapon unfolding over it. Electricity crackles. "I really don't want to do this," she says, muffled by the thick glass. "But I will."

Qrow smirks. 

She slams one fist into his gut, powered by rage, her aura, and lightning dust. His body seizes for a second as he's electrocuted. Then he goes limp and falls to the floor. Harriet picks his unconscious body up off the ground and slings him over her shoulder effortlessly. She turns a corner, and then he can't see her anymore.

If his memory of the compound is correct, she's headed to General Ironwood's office. Being taken to Ironwood's office means two things for prisoners: 'trials' or release. Trials are never fair, because the General has appointed himself to be judge, jury, and executioner. Anyone perceived as a threat to Atlas' safety is executed. 

And in Ironwood's eyes, Qrow is most definitely a threat. Which means, Clover realizes, that he's probably going to be executed. He has to do something about this. _But what?_

He inhales, bracing himself, then pulls the IV out of his arm. The pain isn't that bad, but he's probably doped to all hell on the best painkillers Atlas' scientists can cook up. He gulps, then tries to stand. His legs are shaky, but he can do it. His shirt's gone, but his pants are still intact. _Small victories_ , he tells himself. He'll worry about the stab wound later. He's got to get to Ironwood, explain what happened. Maybe everything can be resolved peacefully.

It's a momentous effort to get to the door and push it open. The hallway is empty. Harriet and Qrow are long gone. He checks both ways to make sure nobody's coming, then starts slowly, agonizingly walking towards Ironwood's office. A while back, they installed metal handles throughout the hall so patients could use them to brace if they collapsed. He's grateful for them now as he puts all of his weight on the cold stainless steel. 

The hallway is frigid and the tile floor feels like ice on his feet. Without his aura, there's nothing between him and the cold. Outside, the wind howls. 

* * *

When Qrow opens his eyes, he's sitting in a cold plastic chair in Jimmy's office. His hands are cuffed together, then to the chair. The man himself is sitting across from him, hands folded under his chin, expression stony and unfeeling. Harriet is nowhere to be seen.

"Hello, Jimmy," he says. He sits straight up, hoping James wouldn't actually court-martial him. He isn't even a member of the Atlas military. But there's no response, just silence and the sound of the wind screaming outside. 

He's wrong. So very wrong. When would James ever give up power for the sake of something so base as emotions?

"Qrow Branwen, for attempted murder of Clover Ebi, I hereby sentence you to death," James says, his voice colder than the snow falling outside the window. There's no trial. Jimmy's appointed himself judge, jury, and executioner. The bastard.

He doesn't protest. Doesn't wince. This was coming. This is what he deserves, he supposes. Who was he to think things were getting better? To think that he could ever have nice things? To think that he could ever have love?

It's his fault that Clover's dead now. It's his weapon stained with Clover's blood. And it's his hand clutching a four-leaf enameled pin spattered with red. The edges are biting into his hand, but he refuses to let go. It's the last piece of Clover he has. 

_I just wish I'd been able to tell the kids goodbye,_ he thinks as Ironwood raises his gun.

Qrow stares him down, summoning the tattered remnants of his confidence. 

This wasn't how he planned to go.

But there's no escape here, no clever plan, nothing to save him now.

He's stuck cuffed to a chair, staring down his former friend who's about to kill him after he was accused of murdering the man he loved.

The kids aren't here to save him.

_It's been a good run._

The safety clicks off.

He wishes he'd been able to tell Clover how he felt.

_I'm so sorry, Cloves._

He shuts his eyes as the gun fires. 

* * *

He's too late, Clover realizes, panting. His luck has failed him when he needed it most.

A dozen sounds hit him at once as he arrives at the open door to the General's office. The crack of Ironwood's gun. Qrow's gut-wrenching cry as a bullet pierces through his chest. The chair he was sitting in clattering to the floor. And the sickening thud as his body hits the polished tiles, aura shattered. Blood pools around him, crimson against the ice-white floor. The bullet keeps going and shatters the window behind the desk.

The four-leaf clover pin Qrow had been clutching falls from his hand and skitters across the floor to rest at Clover's feet. He touches it. It's still warm. _Has he been holding it this whole time?_

He limps over to where Qrow lies on the ground, then kneels next to him. His eyes are glazed over. The light that sparkled in them has died. He rests one shaking palm on Qrow's chest. No heartbeat. No movement. No breath. Blood slicks his hands, hot and sticky. _No. This can't be happening._ He never got to say goodbye. Qrow never saw him either. The last thing he would have seen was Ironwood.

Clover pulls the black ring off of Qrow's hand. Flecks of blood stain the otherwise pristine surface.

 _Was this what it was like for him when Tyrian stabbed me?_ he wonders. _Did he think I was dead?_

He looks up at Ironwood, betrayed. The General's eyes are wide. 

_Did he not know?_

"I... How long were you watching, Operative Ebi?"

"You killed him," Clover accuses, dropping the 'sir' he'd normally add.

"I did what I had to for the sake of Atlas." His voice is cold as he returns his gun to his belt. "Feelings are irrelevant."

"You killed him," he says again, at a loss for words. "YOU KILLED HIM!"

"He tried to kill you first." There's no sympathy, no emotion. "He's the reason you're not out there right now, fighting."

 _He doesn't know_. "YOU IDIOT! That was Tyrian." He's fighting back tears. He can't cry in front of Ironwood, he can't!

"Then why was it his weapon we found coated in your blood? Why was he running away when we found you? I know you opposed each other."

"Why would I defend him?" Ironwood's jaw works. "Why would I go down without a fight?"

"Why would he just let us take him in then?" Ironwood retorts. 

"Because it was what he thought he deserved." For half a second, he sees fear flash across ironwood's face. Fear that he messed up. That he was, for once in his life, wrong. "If you'd just asked, he wouldn't be dead now."

The adrenaline is fading, and the reality of the situation is hitting him now. Qrow is dead. And Ironwood killed him. The blood on his hands is beginning to dry. 

Ironwood doesn't flinch. "I did what I had to. Even without you, Qrow was a threat to Atlas. He needed to be eliminated."

"You mean he was a threat to _you,"_ he accuses. "Would you have done the same thing to the kids?" He already knows the answer, and he doesn't like it. 

"I already am." _Oh gods._ "The remaining members of your team were sent after them three hours ago. They were given time to mourn your death first."

"Obviously, I'm not dead."

"You were – are – in critical condition. Your odds of recovery were minimal. Frankly, I'm surprised you made it here."

Pain spears through Clover's chest. He must have ripped some of his stitches on the way here. Blood seeps through the bandages, a garish red rose blooming on the white fabric. His hands are paler than normal, he notices. _How much blood have I lost?_ His aura is trying to fix him, but it can't. There's not enough of it. The last of it was drained in the battle against Tyrian. Qrow shattered it. _Oh, the irony._

Ironwood notices. "You need to go back to the medical bay."

His muscles go slack and he crumples to the floor. He's so tired. 

So very tired. 

It hurts to breathe. Every lungful of air sends sparks of white-hot pain shooting through him. He knows he fractured several ribs, but all the movement probably broke them entirely. He's dying, for real this time.

The ring is biting into his hand, but he refuses to let go of it. It's the last piece of Qrow he has. 

_I just wish I'd been able to tell the Ace Ops goodbye,_ he thinks.

He can feel Ironwood's eyes on him, watching silently. He makes no move to help Clover. _Does he even care? I did so much for him. I went against my ideals for him._ _I took a sword in the chest for him. But none of it matters because Atlas is all that matters now._

This wasn't how he thought he'd die, collapsed on the floor next to the man killed in a form of sick justice for him.

But there's nothing that can really be done for him now. His heart is struggling to pump the little blood that's left in his veins. Every shaky, rattling breath brings stabbing pain in his lungs as bone fragments pierce them. He couldn't move if he wanted to.

He's stuck on a freezing cold floor, gazing at the man he loved who was falsely accused of his murder and then executed.

His luck isn't here to save him.

_It's been a good run._

Ironwood's boots click away from him. He really doesn't care, Clover realizes. He's being left here to die. 

He wishes he'd been able to tell Qrow how he felt.

_I'm so sorry, Qrow._

He shuts his eyes for the last time. 


End file.
